


That One Time When Takaba Akihito Figured Out It Might Be Love

by J_Peachy



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:56:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13220082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Peachy/pseuds/J_Peachy
Summary: "Together. Akihito blinked hard, looking down at the forgotten cup of coffee in his hand. Like a couple. With Asami. Oh god."





	That One Time When Takaba Akihito Figured Out It Might Be Love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year for everyone!

It was when he found himself in Asami’s club the fifth week in a row, that Akihito began to ask himself if he had become domesticated. 

It wasn’t as if he was doing anything particularly  _ fun  _ there. The last few times had usually involved arriving at the club late-ish at night and finding a quiet booth for himself while he mentally reviewed his work for the day. Inevitably Asami would show up within the hour and they would either spend the evening there or head home together. 

_ Together _ . Akihito blinked hard, looking down at the forgotten cup of coffee in his hand. Like a couple. With Asami. Oh god.    
  
He had arrived and taken his place in the usual booth, reviewing the photographs he had taken of the recent politicians-entertaining-young-women-on-taxpayer-money expose (they had to find a shorter word for that). In the last 30 minutes, at least three servers had come by to inform him politely that ‘Asami-sama will be with you in an hour, Takaba-sama’. 

He hasn’t even objected to the ‘-sama’, so absorbed he had been in his work. Shit. 

It had all started when Akihito got caught out by a thunderstorm and by pure coincidence ( _ yes it was _ ) found himself passing by Sion. 10 minutes later, he was dragged by an understandably pissed off Kirishima to Asami, who told him not to be an idiot and wait out the thunderstorm, before returning to his work. 

Akihito retorted by saying that he had his own work too,  _ thanks Asami _ . 

_ There are plenty of places to sit _ , Asami had responded dryly.  _ I imagine you could work quite well.  _

Well. That was true. 

Three days later, when he found himself caught in the rain  _ again  _ (he needed to start carrying an umbrella), he grudging made his way back to Sion (much to Asami’s amusement) and plopped down on the booth he sat at last and steadfastly ignored everyone. Then when Asami had suggested going back home together, he found he had no reason to refuse. It was still raining and Asami was still… Asami. 

After that, he found himself just dropping into the club, rain or no rain. Nobody really bothered him, the bouncers at the door never even glanced at him and he slipped past much of the moneyed heavy weights without much notice. Plus free coffee and sandwiches.

Today, Akihito had just began to rub the tiredness out of his eyes (this particular job was taking a while to pin down; he had staked out this politician a few times but the man was wily enough to always have his back to the camera, and frankly Akihito was a little sick of it by now) when he heard the door open and Asami stepped in. 

“Not finished yet?” he asked, after catching a look at the photographer’s expression. 

Akihito looked at him sourly. “No. You can go home if you like. I’m going to finish this.” He stared stubbornly at the photographs, willing for it all to just come  _ together _ .  

There was a soft  _ thump  _ as Asami dropped into the seat next to him and, as if by magic, Kirishima re-appeared, murmuring something in his ear. Asami nodded and said, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Leave the car and you can go home now.” 

“Of course, Asami-sama.” Kirishima bowed. He left the room and the waiter appeared, with a tray. He set down a cup of coffee in front of Akihito and a bottle of Glenlivet with a tumbler in front of Asami. 

“Wow, it’s like they can read minds,” Akihito muttered, inhaling the scent of the coffee. Asami chuckled to himself, pouring himself a drink and taking a sip. He swung his arm around the back of Akihito’s shoulders and they both sat in near-silence as Akihito sorted the photographs, muttering under his breath. 

After what felt like hours, Akihito straightened and found his back twinging. “Ouch. How long have we been here?” 

“Two hours,” Asami said, amusement in his voice. Akihito turned to glare at him and caught his breath. Asami was framed in the dimming light of the room,  which played off his dark hair and turned his eyes into molten pools of gold. Later, Akihito would try to recall the moment in his head and would remember comparing Asami to a panther, a sated, satisfied predator.

Asami must have noticed his stillness, because he smiled (a wicked cat’s smile) and said, “See something you like?” The tumbler in his hand glinted in the light of the room as he leaned forward; it was still half empty, but as Akihito belatedly noticed, so was the bottle.

“N-No!” Damn, he was blushing. He turned around to reach for his coffee cup and found that it had gone stone cold. There was a laugh behind him and Asami was pushing the half empty tumbler into his hands with the smouldering look which meant that he was just at the halfway point of pinning him down in the middle of this booth.

Akihito glared at him, but more to stave of the inevitable than anything else, he took a sip of the drink and coughed immediately, the whiskey burning its way down his throat. “Strong stuff,” he said, handing Asami the tumbler back. 

“For a kid like you,” Asami said (and absurdly, Akihito thought he could hear the smile in his voice) and when he turned to him, Asami was sipping his drink and and then leaning over to kiss him. 

The whisky was hot in his mouth, but of course, Asami was the much warmer and immediate presence. Akihito broke the kiss and swallowed, the burn now familiar as it made its way down his throat. He contented himself with glaring at Asami’s exposed collar bone, aware of the blush rising through his cheeks. He blamed it on the drink. 

Asami chuckled, seemingly in a good mood. Akihito heard the clatter of the tumbler on the table before fingers were threading through his hair and Asami was drawing him in for another kiss. This one lasted considerably longer, with Akihito’s hair thoroughly mussed and a few more buttons Asami’s shirt undone after they were done.   

“Is there ever a day you’re  _ not  _ horny?” Akihito asked him in annoyance (not that his statement had much bite when his fingers were busy trying to undo the next button in Asami’s shirt). “No, wait, don’t answer that. I regret asking it.”  

“You seemed tense,” Asami said. “I thought I’d help.” 

“This isn’t helping,” Akihito pointed out. The last button had finally popped satisfactorily open and he revelled in his success, trying to ignore Asami’s very intent ministrations somewhere else all together. It didn’t work for very long. 

“Asami,” he tried again, to no result. Asami had managed flick open the buttons of his jeans, and was tracing his thumb over his obvious erection. “Asami… let’s go - Ah!” 

The last was a response to Asami pushing his hand down Akihito’s pants, past his waistband and gripping him  _ there _ . 

Akihito temporarily whited out and when he came to, he found himself with his mouth hungrily pressed against the businessman’s neck, himself pinned quite solidly down on the sofa. 

“Not here,” he murmured, doing a thoroughly bad job of convincing even himself with the amount of eager attention he was bestowing on Asami’s neck. “Let’s go home.” 

“Mhmm,” Asami murmured. His mouth was right next to Akihito’s ear and as such, the rich baritone was pitched just right to send Akihito careening to the edge. “Are you sure, Akihito?” 

“Fuck you,” Akihito gasped and Asami pushed himself up to look at him, downright _grinning_ , that absolute prick. Akihito grasped his undone collar to pull him down into a messy kiss, which Asami obviously used as an opportunity to divest him off his pants and underwear. 

Even though they had done this many,  _ many  _ times before, Akihito gasped out when he felt Asami’s finger push firmly in, cold but slippery. “You brought lube,” he said accusingly, around gritted teeth, into the man’s shoulder. 

“Of course I did,” Asami said. “I haven’t seen you in a week.” And the absurd profundity of what he had said didn’t seem to strike him, and Akihito opened his eyes and stared at the little of him he could see. 

“Are you kidding me,” he said, before cutting himself off with a cry as a second finger joined. Once his breath had evened out, he managed, “I don’t see why we can’t do this at home, where we have  _ a bed _ .” 

“Oh, we will,” Asami murmured. His fingers were out, and Akihito felt their loss. “But do you want me to leave you like this right now, Akihito?” 

He didn’t and the bastard knew it. Akihito mustered up the energy for a final glare.

“You asshole,” he said and Asami laughed out loud, a real laugh, before leaning down for a bruising kiss. 

 

_ Somewhere between their second and third time, Akihito reached out blindly, expecting to grip the sofa for support. What he did not expect to find were larger fingers entwining into his, holding him down. He twisted around blindly, and was caught by an arm around his waist and held by molten eyes.   _

_ “Don’t let go,” Asami murmured.  _

_ He wouldn’t.  _


End file.
